


You Know How to Please Me

by tenscupcake



Category: Blackpool, Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-16 23:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4643403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenscupcake/pseuds/tenscupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Peter's first evening with Belle, and he's booked her through the night. He's just trying to forget about Natalie; she's just doing her job. It's purely hedonistic... or so they think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WOOHOO!!! I've been waiting for someone to write this fic for... hmm... ever. I finally gave up and decided to just write it myself. I realize the demographic that this crossover targets is probably quite small. But I hope that whoever stumbles upon it with a craving gets some measure of satisfaction from reading it. I know I got some from writing it! :D Also I should say as a disclaimer, I still hardcore ship Hardy with Hannah. This is just sort of a fun thing I wanted to do. Also as a second disclaimer, I've never written either of these two before so I hope I've done their characters justice!

He’s certainly not the 35-year-old detective she expects when she opens the door. Doesn’t look a day over thirty (until he smiles and then it’s more like twenty-five). Wide brown eyes beneath disheveled brown hair, a light dusting of freckles on his nose, and boyish smooth, high cheekbones, only matured slightly by the day’s worth of scruff on his jaw. Yep, he’s fit. And he’s dressed like he’s had a long day of investigative journalism rather than police work: dress shoes, pressed black trousers, a crisp white Oxford shirt, and a blue overcoat, all of which completely drown his slim figure like a secondhand wardrobe from a chubby older brother.

“Hi, please, come in.” She gestures him inside with a wave of her hand and warm, inviting smile.

“Thank you. Sorry I’m late. Long day at work, I’m sure you know how it is,” he rushes out in his confident Scottish brogue, thick and imposing in person in a way it hadn’t been over the phone. He dawdles through her entryway with dragging feet, looking around the walls like he’s here to see the flat rather than its tenant. Stopping several feet inside, he eyes the various decorations on the walls and peers around the corner to the living room, nodding slightly in approval.

“Thought I’d never be able to leave,” he adds, pivoting around to give her his full attention at last. One corner of his mouth lifts up in a weak, halfhearted smirk that’s somehow still charming.

“Tell me about it,” she laughs, but he doesn’t echo the sound. Feeling a bit trapped between his persistent gaze and the door, she points to the hooks behind him and maneuvers around him. “You can hang your coat there, if you’d like.”

What the hell’s happened to her social skills? Fresh all-nighters always make her a touch nervous, and she anticipated a bit more jitters than usual with a cop since everything with Harry. But she’s never been at a loss for words like this. She’s got to get a handle on herself. So, he’s better-looking than she’d marked him down for. A lot better-looking. That normally isn’t a factor in her quality of service, and it won’t be tonight.

“Oh, no, I’m all right.” He shakes his head. “Shall we, ehm…” He reaches into his coat pocket for a thick envelope. “Get the formalities taken care of?”

She replays the words over in her head several times before answering, still a bit mesmerized and strangely calmed by the gentle lilting quality of his voice.

“Of course. Thank you,” she chuckles softly, taking the envelope from his extended hand. “I’ve just got to make a quick call.” She starts into her daily monologue, finding the routine eases her nerves as always as she pulls out her mobile. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right out.” With a quick gesture towards the spacious living room, she flashes a smile that promises him he chose the right escort for the evening.

He gives her a small nod in acknowledgement, and she heads for the loo to get the last of the ‘formalities taken care of’, as he’d put it.

There’s a heavy thud behind the door as he collapses onto the couch, and she makes a mental note that helping him relax is a priority.

The call only lasts a few seconds, as usual, but she lingers next to the bathroom counter, steadying her breathing and checking her still-flawless makeup in the mirror. Okay. So it’s been a while since she’s had a client this attractive. And even longer since she’s _admitted_ a client was attractive. Since everything with Ben, she’s sworn off becoming attracted to anyone altogether, deciding it isn’t worth the risk. If she isn’t satisfied during normal business hours, she’s more than capable of handing that herself.

But this bloke, he’s handsome. The five-o-clock shadow and pink, kissable lips and thick, messy locks she can’t stop thinking about running her fingers through. And that’s what’s unsettling her. It’s dangerous territory.

But she’s a professional. The fact that he’s gorgeous will only make her better at her job. Leave a more satisfied customer.

She spends too much time mulling it over, though, because after a couple of minutes have passed, Peter’s voice carries through the door. It’s much harsher than earlier, a authoritative roughness in it she wouldn’t have guessed he was capable of.

He’s leaning back against the couch when she emerges, his head resting atop the cushions, the column of his throat exposed through the loosened tie and newly unclasped buttons. His eyes are closed, and she can just hear the muffled ‘s’ and ‘t’ sounds from a male on the other end of the line. Sounds like he’s shouting. A half-eaten, blue-speckled scone lies in the middle of a pile of napkins on her coffee table, the handful of crumbs surrounding it indicating he’d dropped it in a rush to answer the phone.

“Baxter.” He sighs, covering his eyes with his hand, and every last whisper of heat drains from her face. “Why? Because, it’s unprofessional!” He’s really raised his voice now.

_What?_

Peter’s head snaps up and turns to her. Had she said that out loud?

“Sorry,” he whispers, apology in his eyes. “Work.” It’s all the explanation he provides before returning to the other conversation. She relaxes a little, shrugging some of the tension out of her shoulders.

“Look. I’ve got to go. Tell me you can handle this for once.” He rubs his thumb and index finger over his eyes, hard, and pinches the bridge of his nose as he listens again.

“Yes.” Exasperated with the bloke, he glances her way again, eyes scanning from her head to her toes curiously for the first time since he’s walked into the flat. With an hourly client, she’d be politely rushing him off the phone, for the sake of his valuable time. But with that not really being an issue tonight, she meanders toward the couch in silence, taking a seat on the empty cushion farthest from him, leaving plenty of space.

“In the case file!” He half-shouts, and a shiver runs down her back again. Talking about a case while he’s with her… perhaps he’s come here for something entirely unrelated to sex. “Yes. All right. Bye.”

Snapping his phone closed, he fidgets to get it back in the pocket of his trousers, and unleashes the full power of his bright brown eyes on her again.

“Begging your pardon, I’ve got an unbelievably incompetent arse of a D.C.” She hasn’t breathed since he put his phone away, and she can hear her own heartbeat as it pounds through her head. He hasn’t taken off his coat or shoes, and seems more interested in the scone on the table than her, as he picks it up again and shovels a hearty bite into his mouth.

“Hope you don’t mind.” He nods down to the pastry in his hand. “Didn’t get a chance to eat dinner yet.”

She shakes her head slightly to clear the uneasiness; the ‘Baxter’ person must be the coworker he’s just mentioned. He hasn’t come here having looked up her records and secret identity. She’s got to get a grip.

“Not at all,” she insists. “Want to get some proper food? Have it delivered? There’s a great pizza place just down the road…” She closer to him, making her way across the couch to the opposite cushion slowly, gauging his reaction.

“Tempting,” he says simply, glancing down to her chest as she gets closer, losing any shred of interest he had left in the pastry in his hand. She takes it lithely and sets it back on the table where he left it before climbing onto his lap, knees on either side of his hips. “Ahh… what about you? Are you… hungry?” he chokes out, and she can’t help but feel relieved. He’s got to be more nervous than she is. He doesn’t reach for her, though; his hands are balled in fists just beyond her knees.

“I could eat.” Her delayed answer to his question is just above a whisper. “Is that what you’d like to do?” She gets his tie undone, slowly slides it free of his collar, and rolls her hips forward, testing. He’s already harder than the coffee table. She had a feeling the cavalier attitude was nothing but a show. She brings her mouth close enough to his that they’re exchanging hot, shallow breaths, inviting him to make the first move (men love feeling in control, she never forgets that), and _Christ_ the way that bottom lip juts out in a perpetual pout is about to make her lose her perfectly rehearsed patience.

He barely breathes out the word ‘later’ and surges forward to capture her lips. Her first moan is a selection from the stockpile of noises she always has on hand to make clients think they’re proficient lovers. But the kiss is good. Very good. He tastes like blueberries and butter and sugar and he’s slow and passionate and generous, attuned to her responses, learning the way she moves and the techniques she likes. And fuck if his pouty bottom lip isn’t luscious between her teeth. Her second moan against his tongue is completely genuine, and it surprises her to the point of fear. She’s found a way to ensure she doesn’t get attracted to clients. She talks herself out of the panic, though, telling herself it’s just been a while since she’s had a bloke that can use his tongue without leaving a slobber trail.

His courage building, his hands come to rest between her shoulder blades, spreading his fingers and she arches closer to him, convincing herself it’s all part of the act. God, _fuck_ he feels so good. She lets herself kiss him for too long. Cups his jaw in her palms, brushes her thumbs over the stubble until it scratches and tickles. Combs her hands through his hair, tugging on the soft thickness of it, molding it into chaos with her fingers. Grinds down on his cock until he’s whimpering against her lips.

For Christ’s sake, he didn’t come here with a stack of cash to snog her.

Releasing his lips, she scoots back until she can access his fly, easily working open the button and pulling down the zipper with one hand.

“Impressive,” he chokes out. “I can’t even do that.”

“Years of practice.” She smiles, but he looks away, chuckling a bit awkwardly.

“Quite.”

She broke the cardinal rule: never let clients consider they’re the latest in a long line. That they aren’t special. The only one. She’s cocking it up left and right tonight.

He’s still more than willing to help her get him out of his trousers and pants, so she hasn’t completely ruined the mood. (He’s even larger than he felt beneath his trousers, placing among some of her best-endowed clients in both girth and length.) Tossing his trousers to the side, she lets her robe slip from her shoulders to reveal the red lingerie she chose for the night (one of the few things she could get out of him over the phone was he liked red). His lips part just a little wider as he takes her in, eyes raking up and down the length of her several times while he races to get the coat off his arms and fumbles with the buttons on his shirt.

She unclasps her bra and slides her knickers down her legs, and he freezes completely with three or four buttons on his stomach yet to go.

“Oh, are you a sight for sore eyes.” His voice is low, rising and falling in a short melody. It might sound creepy, especially with him was gawking like this, but that tender smile of his softens his words until she’s flattered by the compliment, rather than wishing she could cover herself up. He strikes a balance of ogling the naughty bits and gazing into her eyes, makes it feel less like drooling and more like appreciation. Even awe.

But she can hardly wait much longer to touch him again. (Shit.)

Stepping out of her knickers, she saunters forward, a thrill going up her spine as he fidgets in his seat and swallows hard. She doesn’t waste time teasing him, reclaiming her spot on his lap and kissing him again, one hand on his cheek, the other closing around his cock. He yelps into her mouth; wet heat gushes through her folds.

Distracting him with a deeper kiss, she reaches into the tiny drawer in the end table and pulls out a packet (one of the most vital housekeeping rules: keep condoms everywhere). Pulling away just enough to glance down, she tears open the packet and rolls it down his length, slow and steady while he jerks his hips beneath her.

“Belle, you should know I… it’s been a while since I’ve…”

She shushes him quietly and returns her mouth to his. The key being to help him unwind after a long day, she should be sucking him off right now. But she wants to be surrounded by him, hold him while he calls her superficial name, feel him throb inside of her when he comes. The urgency of that tugging feeling is unsettling but she doesn’t resist it: in one fluid movement she sinks down onto his cock, his tip gliding into her wet heat.

“Oh, God,” he chokes out as she lowers herself, taking him deeper inch by inch, stretching and filling her slow and steady. Without thinking she sighs against his cheek once he’s sheathed inside her completely, because he feels so _goddamned_ good. He winces a little, and it’s a face she’s seen many times before: he’s doing his best not to come right this second. His head falls to her shoulder, his hands clenching to fists against the couch again.

She starts to move over him, rising high and taking him in deep with every fall, swells of her hips turning to wave after wave of crashing pleasure. Throwing her head back, she loses herself in the feel of him, just as his mouth moves down to her chest with the opened access, teeth scraping and tongue laving the skin between her breasts, but not where she really craves it. Just as she’s about to shift to brush her nipple against his mouth, he retreats an inch, forehead resting on her sternum. Hisses through his teeth a couple times between labored breaths.

He can’t possibly be enjoying this when he’s focusing so hard on not coming. Realizing she should never be this selfish with a client, she gets back into character quickly.

Slowing the crests and troughs of her hips, she tilts his head up and kisses him softly. Her hands reach down to take his fists from where they’re pressing into the cushion, unclenching them and holding them against the back of the couch with hers, palm to palm.

“Just relax, Peter,” she draws out the words in a whisper against his lips. “Come when you’re ready.”

His fingers clasp between hers, his thighs and stomach unclenching around her as she speeds up her thrusts once more.

“Fuck.” Finally giving himself over to it, he lets out a long, low moan. And another, higher. His eyes snap shut and his hands squeeze hers so hard they ache and with one last, loud curse he thrusts up into her, his cock pulsing as his orgasm washes over him.

Fucking hell, he sounds gorgeous.

_No_. She admonishes herself. _He sounds like any other bloke when he comes._

This is fine. Better, really. Clients always go off quick the first time of the night. She really shouldn’t be after her own pleasure, that’s not her job description. Tonight is really only about him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…” he pants as he sags back into the couch. “Shit, I’ve just set some sort of dreadful record, haven’t I?”

“No, not at all,” she reassures him as she climbs off of him, taking the seat next to him with a wide smile. Back on track.

He pulls off the condom with a grimace and she points him in the direction of the bin. He’s still got the rumpled, half-unbuttoned Oxford shirt on, and it just barely covers his bum as he walks away (way too big on him, like every other item of clothing). With the skinny legs and ruffled brown hair, she’s reminded of _Risky Business_ and giggles silently to herself. Fuck, why’d she have to find a client this sexy _and_ adorable only after she stopped looking?

“Tell me something, Belle,” he begins in a quiet, husky voice as he plods back to the couch, sliding just a little in his socks. He drops to his knees in front of her, his hands just resting on the outside of her thighs, swirling distracted patterns with his fingertips.

“Hmm?” They always want to try to have deep conversations, get to know her. She’s fairly certain that’s what he’s about to get into.

“Can you forgive my juvenile outburst?” He smiles, almost like he’s teasing.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

“Can I make it up to you?” he continues.

“Ready to go again already?” She raises an eyebrow, and tries not to show how enthusiastic she about getting a second chance to get herself off.

“Am I allowed to touch you?” The curiosity in his voice is puzzling.

“Of course. Was there something else you wanted, before?” she asks, a note of alarm in her voice, suddenly feeling like she may not have taken his desires into account the first time.

“Trust me, Belle, nothing could have made _that_ any better. For me, that is.” She furrows her brow, not understanding.

“Can I kiss you?” This, asking permission, this is exceedingly rare. And exceedingly endearing.

“Weren’t we kissing earlier?”

“Anywhere?”

“Peter, whatever it is you want to do, just say it.”

“When’s the last time anyone’s taken care of _you_ , mmm?”

“Think I get more action than you,” she quips, pushing his head lightly with one hand. Breaking the rules again. Seems she fancies doing that with him.

“You never fake it, then?” he inquires, narrowing his eyes, a smug look on his face. It’s suddenly easy to see him as a detective.

“Like you’d be able to tell if I did?” she challenges.

“Yes.” He nods, confident. “That _is_ part of my job.”

“Awfully confident for a bloke who just went off in about thirty seconds.”

“Now, that’s rude!” he points a finger at here. “I’m here, on my knees, apologizing, offering my services for your pleasure…”

She laughs in earnest. She can never talk about this sort of thing with clients, whether she’s randy, whether she comes, whether she fakes it. They never ask. But even if they did, it’s not professional to answer. But it’s easy to talk to him. For a few moments, it doesn’t feel like she’s working at all.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She chuckles a bit more.

“At least let me have a go.” His eyes are wide and innocent despite what he’s asking.

“You’re the boss,” she whispers, arching an eyebrow. One of the oldest tricks in the book.

She opens her legs for him and he scoots forward between them, lowering his mouth to her inner thigh. His tongue barely touches the hot skin there, but she has to clench her teeth to keep from moaning already. With delicate pressure and slow circling motions, he teases what he’s about to do. Sinking his teeth just barely into her flesh, he suckles lightly and swirls his tongue, and before she can stop it her back is arching, hips thrusting forward.

He smiles hugely against her skin. But he repeats the cycle of torture, his mouth is higher up her thigh but still inches shy of where she craves it. His other hand moves to her arse and squeezes as he tugs on her skin again. Pulling away from her thigh with a soft kiss, his mouth moves higher, and he takes a deep breath just over her throbbing center. But he still doesn’t cave. His lips land just between her hip bones, teasing with hot, messy kisses. When he shifts just a centimeter lower and tugs the sensitive skin between his teeth, her finely tuned control slips just long enough to allow her to beg.

“Please.”

She’s just begged a client. A brand new client, no less.

“Good start,” he breathes. Arrogant bastard.

But then the teasing stops, and his mouth is _just there_.

Only a tiny brush of his tongue along her clit, and she curses, fingernails digging into the couch. He doesn’t focus his attention on the oversensitive bundle too fast, desensitize it like so many inexperienced blokes do. His tongue draws gentle rings around it, flicking it with light pressure every few seconds until her legs are around his back, toes curling against his shirt. His other hand snakes between her legs, thumb brushing between her thighs, and she shudders, lost adrift the currents of pleasure. No vestige of authority left, completely at his mercy.

Two fingers press into her folds, tracing around her entrance, leisurely, just feather-light pressure. Pressing the rough flat of his tongue against her clit for friction, he makes small circles with his head as his fingers delve inside her. The moan that comes from her chest isn’t Belle’s; it’s Hannah’s. Her hands grab at his hair, pulling him closer as the sweltering heat of an imminent orgasm builds in her core.

His fingertips massage deep inside her, the tip of his tongue dances wide around her clit, closer and closer until finally touching and he pushes forward, laving the bud with all the direct, focused attention he’s been avoiding, and she clenches hard on his fingers, something like a sob and a scream on her lips. Not the practiced, exaggerated shriek she uses to convince clients. In the ‘she hasn’t come this hard in months’ scream that she can usually only achieve on her own with expensive products. He doesn’t stop, staying with her through endless waves of bliss, slowing his pace only when she shudders against his tongue.

He hums as he kisses her there for the last time, and finally withdraws his hand.

He smiles up at her, his lips wet, as she slumps against the back of the couch, limbs still tingling with the indulgence, and for the first time she feels guilty for letting him do this. It’s not possible he enjoyed it more than she did.

“Admit it, you misjudged me.” Something tells her he’s kidding now, but also that a part of him actually believes what he’s saying. That he knows he’s that good. Honestly? He’s as good as the bloody male escort she spent the afternoon with years ago. But she’s never gonna admit to that to him.

“Shut up,” she pushes his forehead back with the hand still in his hair. “How do you know I haven’t just faked it? I’m good at my job.”

He lifts the fingers he’s just fucked her with, still glistening. “I can tell the difference.” He slips the fingers into his mouth and licks them clean with a contented sigh. “My ex-wife used to think she had me fooled,” he continues. “Ex-girlfriend, too. But neither of them were worth the effort, in the end.” He shrugs.

“I’m sorry,” she offers, glad to change the subject to anything other than how he can tell she had a real orgasm.

“Don’t be,” he insists, shaking his head. “So… ehm… pizza delivery?” He gets to his feet, still pants-less, and goes over to grab his phone from the other end of the couch, a skip in his step like he’s incredibly pleased with himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to this mad little story! Basically, what we have here is eating pizza, more sex, and some general fluffiness :D And an ending I've really grown to like. Hope you guys enjoy it!

He isn’t sure what he expected when he came here today. He knew Belle was impossibly beautiful, but didn’t expect the perfection to hold up under scrutiny. Even centimeters from her face, her eyes and hair and lips were flawless and it made him go a bit mad. He expected good service, considering how professional she seemed over the phone. But not that he’d be able to take a long, hot shower in the spacious tub while she put in their pizza order. Or that she’d have a clean, posh towel and robe laid out for him on the counter.

But the one thing he felt confident in when he walked into the flat this evening was that he’d have a certain sense of… control. That he’d be in charge of the timing of things, the pace. Being the client, and all. But though she was extraordinarily skilled at making him believe he was making the decisions, and she followed his wishes loosely, Belle was the one running the show tonight. And strangely, he didn’t mind. The nerves roiling in his stomach the entire day in the office were quelled in just a few minutes of rushed lovemaking. He hadn’t even known how badly he needed to get off. Been too caught up daydreaming that Natalie would come knocking, begging him to take her back, to touch himself much.

Natalie. He growls into his towel as he wipes off his face. Dull, sour, fickle old woman. What did he ever see in her?

Belle is… lovely. Intelligent. Confident. Makes him laugh. Isn’t afraid to tease him. He’d very much like to see her every day, but he hardly has the money to visit her every night. Who is he kidding? This is a one-night-only encounter, to distract himself from Natalie and have a good time. So he’d better make the most of it. He drags the towel through his dripping hair until it’s more of a damp mess, wraps the robe around his torso, ties it loosely, and heads out of the loo in a cloud of steam.

“Should be about ten minutes,” Belle announces from the edge of the bed, sipping a clear glass of water.

“Great. Perfect, thanks. How much?”

“Eighteen quid.”

“Flat?”

“Eighteen sixty.”

“Bloody expensive pizza,” he mutters, taking a seat next to her on the bed.

“Bloody delicious pizza,” she counters, nudging him softly in the shin with her foot.

“You order diamond dust on it?”

“I got what you asked!” she pokes him harder in the covered part of his thigh with her toe. “Pepperoni and tomatoes. There’s a delivery charge,” she adds, more seriously.

“Aye.” He shakes his head. “All right if I have a glass?” he nods towards hers as she holds it to her lips again.

“Mmm,” she agrees through a swig, standing and setting her drink on the nightstand. “Be right back.”

He can’t help watching as she tiptoes in that barely-there robe of hers out of the room. Only once she’s out of sight does he collapse back onto the bed, pleasantly surprised by how well the mattress absorbs the blow. He’s barely settled into a comfortable position when she’s entered the room again.

“Here we are,” she calls sweetly next to his left knee. Bolting upright, he clears his throat and takes the glass with a mumbled ‘thanks.’ He takes several long gulps that quickly drain the glass, and she’s there to take it from him, setting it on the nightstand next to hers.

“How was your shower?” Before he can answer she’s got one hand deep in his robe, rubbing his chest, and the other combing through his wet hair and he can’t breathe, much less talk for a long few seconds.

“Water pressure is excellent.” Clever, Peter.

The soft melody of her chuckle soothes him, as it’s already done many times tonight, so he laughs with her. With the gentlest of tugs on the tie of his bathrobe, it comes undone and she spreads it open, and the laugher stops at quickly as it began. She lights him on fire, kissing down his neck, licking his chest and nipping at his stomach; he’s solid and throbbing beneath her and only she can quench the blaze.

“Returning the favor?” He uses the last moment of sanity to pretend it’s not a big deal. Even while she quickly rolls a condom onto his length, he smiles and acts like isn’t about to combust.

“Only fair.”

“Cutting it close, eh?” he grunts out.

“I’m not worried.”

Then her mouth is on him and he can’t pretend to be insulted anymore.

He bites down on his knuckles to muffle the noise he makes as she takes him in deeper. Her tongue laves slow and hot and wide behind her lips as she sets up a torturous rhythm and he gives up trying to stay quiet and fists his hands in her duvet, fighting every urge to thrust harder and faster into her mouth.

“Christ, Belle.”

She chuckles around him and the vibrations send electric shivers up his spine.

He’s hypnotized by the sight, once he can finally look. Watching himself disappear between her cherry-tinted lips; the way her cheeks hollow out on every stroke. She’ll look up at him through thick lashes every few seconds, and smile around him every time he curses. Sometimes she closes her eyes and moans as she swirls her tongue around the head and he doesn’t even fucking care if it’s completely fake and just for his benefit because fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

His hand settles into the golden ringlets atop her head and he nudges her gently, a silent prayer for more. Harder and faster. Responding to his plea, her teeth just lightly graze him as her mouth descends and she sucks with insistent pressure. His fingers sink deeper into her hair and he clutches as carefully as he can, needing to touch her somehow but not wanting to hurt her.

Then she drops the arm she was using to hold her own robe together.

God, _fuck_ , she’s stunning. The smooth flesh of her breasts pushes against his thighs, warm and silky and pebbled peaks tickling his skin. He can smell the crisp fruitiness of her soft, perfect curls as she moves… her mouth so hot and wet and gentle it’s like heaven… but then there’s fucking lipstick smears on the condom and he remembers he should be in hell. Fuck, with her head bobbing up and down like this he should bloody arrest her.

She looks up at him one last time, hums deeply as she licks underneath his cock, circling him with one hand and quickening her pace, and stars burst behind his eyes. He bucks his hips and comes deep in her mouth, half-formed curses on his lips.

Three things happen in rapid sequence before he’s fully recovered his sanity. The doorbell sounds. His deflating cock slips from her mouth as she jumps to her feet and closes her robe again, hopping through the bedroom door and into the common room. His mind washes completely blank as he flops back onto the bed, struggling to move his jelly legs and noodle arms and breathing like he’s just run a marathon.

He tries to focus on breathing steadily, catching his breath without hyperventilating. _Shit_. That was… unbelievable. He never thought it could be this good with a rubber on. Really. Wriggling with his fingers and toes, he slowly regains control of the muscles he’ll need to move before she gets back with their food. It wouldn’t do to have her find him lying here still, in a dazed, motionless heap on her sheets several minutes later. No, he’d never hear the end of it.

By the time she walks into the room with a large box and the overpowering aroma of bread, cheese, and tomato sauce, he’s as presentable as he can get: rid of the condom, covered everything below the waist with a sheet, and propped up on a few pillows.

Tossing the box in the center of the bed, she climbs up and folds her legs underneath her as she plops down, reaching into the box for the biggest slice of the pie, taking long strings of hot cheese along with it. Some of which end up dragging along the bed.

“Peckish?” he asks, unable to keep the huge grin off his face.

“So-wy,” she muffles out through a mouthful, trying and failing to contain the webs of cheese with a cupped out hand.

“No, please,” he insists with a laugh, taking a slice for himself with arguably more tact than she had, catching the extra chest in the box. “Have all you like.” He stuffs an equally huge bite into his mouth so she doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

“Mmm… ridisshguh.”

“Mm?” she mumbles back.

They both look at each other’s puffed up cheeks and burst into muffled laughter.

She swallows hers down just before he does.

“What?”

He gulps, and clears his throat. “It is good.” He nods. “Very good.” They both take another much smaller bite that they can talk through. “I dunno about _eighteen pounds sixty_ good, but…”

“Actually… I…” She covers her mouth with one hand as she starts to speak. “I gave the bloke an extra fiver. Hope that’s all right?” She phrases it like a question, though the deed’s done and past now.

“Well, it’s a bit late for me to say no now, isn’t it?” His voice shoots up an octave. “Twenty-three pounds for one pizza.” He shakes his head. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

“Think I’m _responsible_ for the good mood.”

He laughs, hoping she can taste the sarcasm in it. She bites into her slice again, and it’s innocent enough, but the way her lips close over the tip reminds him of the way it felt around him, and he feels his face heat up.

“Talk to all your clients this way?” he says to distract her from his pink cheeks.

“I’m sorry. Have I offended you, sir?” She chuckles to herself, and he still thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

“Just a bit.” He pouts his lip out a little. A cry for attention if he ever saw one.

“D’you want to leave?”

He sees the flash of panic in her eyes before she can blink it away, the way her jaw tightens infinitesimally as she waits for his answer. He hides his glee in another bite of pepperoni, lets her wonder for a second.

She doesn’t want him to leave. If he were any other client, she wouldn’t care less, right?

“What, a full week’s pay for half an hour?” he mumbles out with his mouth full, eyes wide like he’s been scandalized.

“I’ll allow a… seventy-five percent refund.”

“Generous.” He nods appreciatively as he leans back against the headboard. Cluing her in on what his answer’s going to be.

“But no. It’s ehm… refreshing, I suppose. My ex didn’t have much of a sense of humor. I’d just get a blank stare every time I tried to tease her.” She laughs, her eyes lighting up, and he laughs, too, despite the foul memories that he’s dredging up. “Then sometimes she’d just get angry. Make me get on my knees and apologize before she’d even talk to me again.”

“She sounds dreadful.”

“She was, truly.” He sighs. “But I loved her.”

Ah, there he bloody goes again. Getting emotional in front of a complete stranger.

“What happened?”

Belle’s voice is gentle, coaxing him to divulge more information. Why she wants to hear any of it is a total mystery him.

“She left me. Got bored.” He reaches into the box and tears another slice for himself, and she follows his lead. “Should have seen it coming, really.

“How could you have?”

“She left her husband to be with me.”

She opens her mouth like she’s about to respond, but closes it again, eyes darting between his face and the cheesy spectacle in her hand.

“But it’s really fine. I’m fine.” He truncates the conversation before she can make any moral commentary that he’s a home-wrecker. “What I’d like most is to forget about her, to be honest.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Mmm. Had your share of heartbreak, then?”

“Seriously? You think it’s easy to keep a bloke around when you do what I do?”

“Suppose not.”

They eat in silence for a few moments.

“Bunch of arseholes, though, if you ask me. The way I see it you’re just… providing a public service.”

“A public service?”

“Sure. Like a chef.”

“I’m like a chef?” Amusement looks good on her. Makes her cheeks glow and her eyes bright, and that smile takes his breath away even now.

“Well, ye know. You provide a quality product, in exchange for a fee, that satisfies a basic human need.”

“Most people don’t see it that way.” There’s a subdued note of regret in her words.

“What that… just because of the profession you’ve chosen, you don’t deserve to find love?”

She’s quiet, and he fears he’s overstepped one of her many invisible boundaries. Chews the last bite of her food too slowly for his liking.

“You’re sweet, Peter.”

He isn’t. But he gets the message that she wouldn’t like to discuss her love life anymore.

\---

She reads in her spare time, and writes. Published a book detailing her life as an escort (that he’s _got_ to pick up on his way home tomorrow). Likes to run in the mornings. Used to have a mate called Ben, but that somehow went sour (he’s desperate to know how but doesn’t want to pry anymore than he already has). Loves to travel.

She says she’s full but he eats two more slices of pizza, and she gets him napkins when a messy bite splatters tomato sauce on his chest.

She, unfortunately, finds out a fair bit of trivia about him, as well. Though he manages to keep the fact that he jeopardized his career for Natalie and botched a murder investigation to himself. No, she only finds out things she can use to tease him: like that his feet are ticklish and he likes to sing but was never good enough to make in music. She gets a leg under the covers and gets the bottom of his foot with her toe, and later makes him sing a verse of the smash hit ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go’ for her. (He only pretends to pout when she laughs at him to get more attention, for reassuring touches and repentant kisses. The truth is he hasn’t had this much fun in years.)

A couple of hours later, he’s at least twenty-five percent dressed (his pants and mostly unbuttoned shirt on, anyway), horizontal on her couch after about two re-runs of The IT Crowd, munching on the rest of his scone while she covers her giggles with dainty fingers. She follows his lead after two more episodes, lying in front of him until he can’t see the telly. The coconut aroma of her hair and the natural perfume of her skin hit him like a lorry, and he twitches in his pants when her hips line up with his, already half-hard. There isn’t enough room on the couch to turn her around, so he pushes her hair aside and lowers his mouth to her neck. With slow, sweeping brushes of his lips down to the join of her shoulder, he commits to memory the way her head lolls further to the side each time his teeth graze her skin, the warm shivers when his tongue touches beneath her hairline.

She presses back against him so he wraps his free arm around her stomach and pulls her closer, resentful of the clothes he managed to put back on now that they’re entangled like this. His hand slips under the tie of her robe to cup her breast and she gasps, and fuck if it isn’t the new most erotic sound he’s heard in his life (just add it to the list with every other noise she’s made since he walked inside). He thrusts forward as he pulls back with his arm, grinding his already aching cock against the lush curve of her bum.

The sound of the techno theme playing again is distant, barely recognizable clamor as she quickly unties the single garment. He gently rolls a nipple between his fingers and his kisses on her neck turn a little rougher, his teeth sinking into her neck and tongue hot on her skin. She moans and presses back helplessly against him again and he can’t restrain himself anymore; his hand caresses a path down stomach and a single digit traces her slit before delving inside. She gasps again, higher and less restrained.

“Fuck,” he breathes. She’s so _warm_ and so wet, slick moisture pooling around his finger. He zeroes in on the slippery bud tucked between her folds, drawing rings around it with obscene wet noises and she spreads her thighs a little more for him. _Christ_ she’s so impossibly sexy and he’s so hard and throbbing, pushing and rubbing against her faster, begging her to touch him, too but she can’t reach like this. Some distant part of him knows that. 

Her hand lands over his, stopping its motion, and she pulls it away gently. He stops kissing her shoulder, eyes darting to hers for a clue into what she intends to do with him.

“You know, we haven’t actually used the bed properly yet.” The suggestion is clear.

“Mmm. It’s too bad, really,” he brushes his lips over her throat with the new angle. “Just imagine what I could do with all that extra space.”

“You’re getting ambitious again.”

Slipping a couple fingers down into her folds again, he strokes her clit until she cries out and he grins wickedly against her collarbone.

“I’d. Blow. Your. Mind.” He punctuates the words with kisses on her lips this time. He’s really laying it on thick but it’s all pretense – he doesn’t really think this highly of his own sexual prowess, especially in the company of someone who literally has sex for a living. But it’s too fun to tease her and he can’t seem to stop.

“Really setting the bar high, mister,” she warns him as she rolls off the couch and out of his reach too fast for him to protest.

She shrugs the single item of clothing off her shoulders as he walks away, and he’s left gaping after her bare arse and legs for a few seconds after she’s out of sight. A bit of drool on his cheek snaps him out of it, and he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and scrambles off the couch after her.

She’s already sitting cross-legged on the bed, completely starkers and biting her lip, with a foil packet between the fingers of her right hand.

His legs feel spring-loaded; all he wants to do is pounce, drive into her until she screams. But he’s got expectations to live up to now.

He pulls off his shirt and pants while she scoots back on the duvet, then climbs between her legs and hovers over her. Lowering his head, he devotes his attention to her breasts, pulling the peaks into his mouth and circling with his tongue one at a time. Completely drunk on the surge of power he gets when her fingers twist in his hair, holding him against her chest. The way his name sounds like a desperate prayer on her lips.

He finds her clit with ease, swollen and hot beneath his fingertips, but shies away from it, tracing the circumference without touching it again directly, while he sucks a little harder on the pebbled nipple in his mouth. And it’s all it takes to break her.

With a sharp sigh, she pulls him up with both hands in his hair, and places the foil square in his palm, warm and damp from her grip. Tells him it’s enough of the foreplay. So he doesn’t waste any time.

Being inside her is still utterly overwhelming. He really doesn’t blame himself too much for going off in a short minute the first time. But he’s come twice now, and he thinks he’s built up to his usual stamina.

He can’t help but lean down to take a breast in his mouth once more, tempting as they are lush and bouncing with all her fidgeting and pretending to be nonchalant when she repeats that it’s all right for him to move.

“Here I was trying to be polite,” he breathes as he switches to her other breast. “You’re very impatient.”

But he thrusts forward, surprising her to another gasp and it’s such an exquisite sound. God, the way she just swallows him whole every time. It’s almost too much. He really tries to hang on, for a while, finding all the moves that make her toes curl, rocking in and out of her at a steady pace that keeps him sane. She likes to tug on his hair, so he keeps close to her. Leaves messy kisses on her neck and her lips, humming with pleasure when her nails scratch against his scalp.

  She asks for faster, pulling her knees up; he hooks his arm under her knee and gets a better angle to kindle her pleasure from deeper until she’s noisy on every thrust. Squeezing her muscles around him, hot and tight and wet she’s got to be close now… fuck, fuck…

“Touch yourself,” he commands in a low whisper. With one arm supporting her leg and the other grappling for leverage on the headboard, he doesn’t have a free hand for it. “Please,” he adds, desperate to not be one of _those_ clients. He doesn’t want her to touch herself for his benefit, he _just wants her to come_. Hard.

He feels her hand between where they’re joined, damp with sweat and shaking with pleasure and lacking any finesse, brushing against his cock with every thrust of his hips. Her walls twitch and flutter around him, back arching underneath him and crying out one last time.

He has just a moment to watch her, breasts heaving, her head pressing harder into the pillow, mouth parting in a gorgeous oval, eyes glossy with pleasure before her lids close over them, breasts heaving, and then he breaks. Buries himself as deep as he can go before he’s paralyzed as he spurts inside her, his brogue thicker than usual with the filthy language on his tongue, pleasure flooding his system until he’s intoxicated with it. The warm, tingly remnants of his climax monopolize his faculties, his brain goes fuzzy. He forgoes the usual courtesy of rolling away to collapse rather rudely on her chest.

She’s silent for a several deep breaths, and then starts to giggle.

“All right, there, Peter?”

“Hnnh,” he mumbles into her shoulder.

“Well, now, which one of us is speechless?” She pokes his thigh with her big toe.

“I’m good,” he stammers out, climbing off of her and landing on his side. “Mhm, good. What about you, are you…” He can feel a delirious grin tainting the smug expression he’s going for. “Didn’t I say I could rock your world?” He uses the American vernacular, hoping to get another laugh from her.

It works.

He’s honestly completely knackered, but he wants to stay up with her on his one, precious, very expensive night. Why waste it sleeping?

They both curl up under the duvet facing each other, though, and it becomes much harder to hold his eyes open. After few minutes of innocent questions, what he does in his spare time, what his favorite thing to satisfy his demanding sweet tooth is, she teases him again. Tells him his eyes droop unevenly when he’s tired.

He covers his face with the blanket, embarrassed by her (entirely accurate) observation, and it takes her a full minute to pull it away (he lets her think she finally gathered the strength but he really just admired her persistence and let her win).

“I’m sorry, really,” she says for the twentieth time when he’s revealed from beneath the covers at last. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it. It’s… endearing, okay?” She pushes his hair away from his forehead and brushes her fingers over his temple. “If anyone tells you different they’ll have me to answer to.”

_This_ is just Belle as he’s come to know her, caring and strong and inspirational. She just makes him feel good. About himself, about his life, about what they’re doing, about everything, really. How did he end up so lucky to book her, of all people, this morsel of gold shining through the sea of lumps of coal filling the sex industry? She’s compassion meets professionalism. Optimistic no matter (he guesses) how terrible of a shag you are. Determined to ensure you have a good time, despite your hang-ups or insecurities. Encouraging when you’re feeling down. Makes you laugh when you’re getting too serious. Not to mention, breathtakingly beautiful.

Oh, bollocks, he’s in trouble.

He nods in acknowledgement of her promise of protection, and she leans over to kiss him, one hand combing through his hair and the other on his cheek. Tender, reassuring brushes of her lips that leave him rather dizzy. He tugs her closer to him after a final peck, and beams despite himself when she doesn’t object to the motion.

“You can go to sleep, Peter,” she offers, and he realizes his eyes have closed.

“I’m not tired,” he lies, opening his eyes wide. “I want to hear more about you. Tell me about… something. Anything.”

But his eyes close again. It feels so good to be nude and unashamed, cuddled up under the covers with her, his hand resting on her waist, her warmth radiating across the short distance between them. The comfortable, calm energy she exudes seeps into him and he simply can’t hold them open anymore. He hears three sentences about that more-than-mate of hers, Ben, before sleep takes him.

\---

He wakes up with twenty minutes to be in the office. Of course.

“Shit,” he groans hoarsely as he scrambles out of bed, searching for his clothes. But he finds them in a neatly folded pile on the nightstand, and turns to find Belle sitting up on the other side of the bed, illuminated by a small lamp, wide awake and just looking up at him from a book.

“Sorry,” she says, setting her book down on the opposite table. “Wasn’t sure what time you needed to be up, and I didn’t want to wake you too early.”

“Squandered all our time away, after all,” he says sheepishly, voice still croaking a bit with sleep. He takes a long look at her, and decides she’s showered, put on fresh clothes, and probably done a few other errands while he’s been unconscious. He runs a hand down his face, hating himself. Of course, she wouldn’t have actually slept with him. How stupid can he be?

“You didn’t,” she insists, getting out of bed. “You needed sleep.” She comes around to his side of the bed and pecks him on the cheek. “How long ‘til you have to leave?”

“Just a couple minutes, really.” He starts throwing on his clothes, formulating a story for the other blokes at the station of why he’s in the same clothes as the day before. He gets everything on in record time except for the tie, which always gives him a hell of a time. She bats his hands away before he can struggle too long and does it up for him in seconds, and he’s struck again by the unpleasant thought that she’s probably doing up other men’s ties multiple mornings a week.

“I had a lovely time, Belle.” It’s shit, but it’s the best he can come up with on short notice before he’s had coffee.

“Me too.” She smiles at him like he’s the best first date she’s ever had, but he knows she’s trained herself to make him believe that.

“Is that your real name? Belle?” He isn’t sure what possesses him to say it. His childish burning curiosity. Something in her expression that suggests she’s still undercover.

“I can’t…” The disapproval in her eyes and the frown that turns down her lips tells him he’s way out of line.

“Right. Ok.” He nods in somber acceptance. “Look is there any chance… you wouldn’t ehm… well… can I see you again?”

“Yeah, give us a call, I’ll check my schedule and we can pencil you in for another…”

“No, er… not… not an appointment.” Christ, he’s an idiot. This is a terrible idea. Terrible. Understanding dawns on her face and she purses her lips.

“Peter, look, I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong idea. I don’t… see clients outside of work.”

Why did he think they had a spark of something special, something unique? Of course it’d all been an act. This is what she does. He’s just a stupid and romantic enough bastard to fall for it.

“Sorry. Of course. You’re right.” He starts to make his way out of the room, intending to speed out of the flat without looking back. But something in his gut won’t let him leave her without a piece of him (honestly, why he’s still this sentimental after everything with Natalie is beyond him).

“Look,” he fishes around in his jacket for a card, extending his hand out to her. “Give me a call, if you ever need anything, aye?”

She doesn’t take it.

“I can’t, I’m sorry, it’s… not professional.”

He swallows a lump in his throat, leaves the card on her bed, and turns on his heel to race out of the flat.

He supposes he can’t sleep with anyone, anymore. Not even an escort. He’s too gullible and his amorous heart too fragile even for that.

\---

A month later, he gets a text a night that he’s at home, an unknown number that’s never texted him before.

_peter, it’s belle. there’s a creep over who won’t leave. help? x_

He’s grabbed his coat and rushed out of his flat in less than a minute.

\---

The bloke _was_ a twat. But a single flash of his badge had him out the door, shoes and trousers bundled in his hands, in a matter of seconds. Shouting a warning down the hall after the wanker, he slams the door.

“Thank you,” Belle sighs with relief.

“Y’all right?” he asks, brushing his thumb over the bridge of his nose, acting like the answer is trivial.

“I’m fine.”

“Stay safe.” He nods, and turns to leave.

“Wait,” she calls. He reverses his turn, faux exasperation on his face.

“Can you stay?”

“Thought it was unprofessional,” he bites back, the bitterness of her words still lingering with him after four weeks. As he swivels around and reaches for the door, he knows he’s pouting. But she hurt him enough that if she really wants him to stay (off the books), she’s going to have to prove it to him.

“Hannah.” His hand freezes on the doorknob, and he turns around.

“My… real name’s Hannah.” She pulls a lock of her hair behind her ear, her eyes wide, bare feet fidgeting against the floor.

He releases his grip on the handle, and turns the lock instead.

 


End file.
